


Lions and Serpents

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, De-Aged Characters, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dorian is in Slytherin, and Cullen is in Gryffindor, and yet they still manage to be reasonable human beings.  Set in the Potterverse - specifically, during the events of the chapter 'The Lion and the Serpent', in 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lions and Serpents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SOMNlARl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/gifts).



> Look, humour me, alright? This is an utterly ridiculous story, but I had one of those awful muses who camped out in my brain for bloody weeks after I was re-reading OotP and accidentally looked at Tumblr. This is for the sensational HermioneDanger, who is a completely lovely human being; bearing that in mind, I do blame you somewhat for this, sweets.

He hears the roar of that idiotic hat that the Lovegood girl has over breakfast and sneers.  It’s not so much the sheer lunacy of the hat itself - it's the incredible fashion faux pas that it embodies.  Still, she is enthusiastic, he has to give her that.  Dorian himself draws the line at a house coloured scarf - he doesn’t care for Quidditch, beyond the opportunity to show the jumped up Gryffindors a thing or two.  Still, he thinks as he sighs into his cereal, it would be marginally better to have more of an emphasis on academic points, and less on sport.  He rests his chin on his palm, elbow on the table, only half listening to Warrington snicker, muttering instructions about when to start singing.  He looks at the crown shaped badge that Parkinson had passed down the bench to him, reads the legend written upon it, and sighs again.  He puts it in his pocket.

-|||-

Cullen near chokes when he sees it.  The girl from Ravenclaw, the one that always seems to be hanging around Potter and that crowd recently, is wearing a ruddy great lion on the top of her head.  He thinks it’s rather sweet, how the other houses will pick sides - though why any of the other houses would pick Slytherin to support over Gryffindor is beyond him.  Lovegood - is that her name? - looks pleased with herself, and touches the hat lightly with her wand.  “Merlin's beard!” Cullen yelps as it roars, very loudly.  Of course, he sloshes pumpkin juice over half his front and onto Angelina Spinnet.  “Watch it!” she tells him, and wipes ineffectually at the mess.

“Sorry,” he says as she gets up to walk down to the pitch, “I really am…”

“No bother, Rutherford.  I’ve got to change into my kit anyway.  You coming down to watch the match?”

“Yes,” he tells her, pushing the end of his scarf over his shoulder, “I’m coming.”

-|||-

As it is, Dorian is right on the edge of the Slytherin crowd.  The Ravenclaws are between them and the Gryffindors - a wise thing too, because as soon as they start singing, the Gryffindor supporters are going to be ropeable.  He allows himself a small smile.  Weaseley really is a rubbish keeper, it’s obvious they only keep him on the team because he’s friends with Potter.  Madam Hooch releases the balls, and the crowd around him cheer wildly.  Dorian watches Malfoy fly low around the goalposts at the Slytherin end.   _ It’s not going to be there, you moron _ , he thinks, and sniffs.  “Why aren’t you wearing it?” asks the girl to his left, and he leans closer, shouting, “Pardon?” to buy himself more time.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?  The badge?” she repeats, and he shrugs, raising an eyebrow.  

“It doesn’t go with my outfit.”

She crinkles her nose and shrugs back at him, then looks across to Parkinson in the middle, who is watching the game closely.  Suddenly, as Spinnet races up the pitch with the Quaffle under her arm, Parkinson raises her hand and yells, “One! Two! Three! Four!”

-|||-

“What are they singing?” Cullen asks the boy next to him, who stops yelling and frowns.  

“Dunno…”  

They stand there, trying to figure out the lyrics to whatever it is the Slytherins are yelling.  It seems to be getting louder, and finally, Cullen hears:

“Weasley cannot save a thing!

He cannot block a single ring!

That’s why all the Slytherin’s sing!..”

 

“Weasley is our King.” Cullen mutters, and shakes his head.  Weasley isn’t the greatest keeper, it has to be admitted, but McLagan really did shit his pants at the trial - Cullen was there, he saw the bloke fly off in completely the wrong direction.  Potter pretty much had to chose him, though anyone could see that it rather pained him to do it.  He looks over at the Slytherin stand, willing someone, anyone to make eye contact so that he can at least make a rude gesture at them, but all he notices is a dark haired boy, standing on the very edge of the crowd, determinedly not singing.  He frowns through the Ravenclaws, some of whom are singing along, most of whom are now glaring at the Slytherins or yelling insults at them.  The boy folds his arms over his chest and bows his head, and Cullen notes he doesn’t seem to be wearing a badge either.  “Weird,” he mutters.

-|||-

All that, and they still won.  Dorian takes the badge out of his pocket, walking back to the castle with the others.  There is a mood of angry dejection about them - some kind of strange fatalism.  There had been a fight, of course, a rather large punch up on the pitch when Potter had grasped the Snitch before Malfoy.   _ Always able to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory _ , Dorian thinks snidely, and then feels a little mean.  Malfoy has always struck him as being a bit of a talentless wizard, too ready to ride on the coattails of his family name and surround himself with muscular brutes.  He unwinds the scarf from around his neck, feeling the chill wind off the lake caress pebbles into his suddenly cold flesh.  He hears Gryffindors singing as they approach, and he wonders if he should hurry up, try to catch up with the rest of his classmates.

-|||-

“Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” Cullen sings along with the others.  He gazes around, loving the exultant feeling of a win, even if it is a win by proxy, even if he didn’t really contribute anything.  It’s just nice to be part of a winning house, really.  And there’ll be celebrations in the common room tonight, and perhaps he can finally get that wretched Charms essay finished afterwards.  It’s the weekend, after all.  But then, a lone figure arrests his eye, and he watches as the boy he’d seen earlier, the Slytherin who did not sing, casts about himself, as if he’s worried about something. “Hey, catch you up?” he says to Finnegan, who only nods and sings a little louder.

-|||-

“Oi,” he hears over his shoulder, and half turns, already on the defensive.  “Oi, are you alright?”  It’s that blonde boy, the one he’d seen across the Great Hall countless times now - a Gryffindor in every respect.  But… he looks concerned, and his hand is warm on Dorian’s shoulder, so Dorian stays his hand on his wand and nods.  “Never better,” he tells the boy, putting his nose in the air.  The boy laughs, and then frowns again.  “I saw you before.  You didn’t sing.  What’s wrong with you?”

Dorian sneers.  “Nothing’s wrong with me, thank you very much.  I just… didn’t think it was very sportsmanlike.”

“Oh,” the other boy says,  “Oh.  That’s… nice.”  

Dorian hems non-commitedly.  “Aren’t you a Gryffindor?  Shouldn’t you be celebrating your victory?”

“Well…” Cullen tells him, and takes a deep breath.  “Actually, I was wondering… we have Charms together, don’t we?  Have you got the essay finished yet?”

“Of course,” Dorian frowns, “Why, haven’t you?”

“No… no.  I’m really struggling with it.”  Cullen’s shoulders sag, and he leans a little closer to Dorian as they pass into the shadow of Hogwarts, looming before them.  “Hey, if you don’t mind…”

“I won’t let you copy my essay, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

“No, no I don’t want to copy… uh… forget it.”

There is quiet, just the noise of their footfalls and now-distant singing.  “If you like,” Dorian says cautiously, “I could… help you?  I was heading to the Library anyway.  Only if you like though.”

“I’d like that,” the blonde boy tells him, and sticks out his hand, smiling slightly.  Dorian takes the gloved hand and they shake, as the blonde says, “I’m Cullen, Cullen Rutherford.  Nice to meet you.”

 

Dorian smiles.  “Dorian Pavus.  Nice to meet you too.”  He pauses, and his smile widens slightly, “Even if you are a Gryffindor.”  

And Cullen laughs, puts his hands back in his pockets, and they trudge up toward the Library, together.


End file.
